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Read Ebook: Mark Tidd's Citadel by Kelland Clarence Budington Clarke William Wallace Illustrator
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Ebook has 1346 lines and 55955 words, and 27 pages
Mr. Ames pounded on the porch with his cane and shouted: "Ma, here's four boys--and one of 'em special size--to stay to supper. Don't forget the pie."
That sounded pretty good to all of us, I can tell you. Twenty miles of driving with nothing to eat is enough to make a fellow dance a jig at the mention of a baked potato.
"Mr. Ames," says Mark, "we 'ain't never set anything on fire."
"No?" says Mr. Ames, wondering what Mark was getting at, I expect.
"Nor we 'ain't ever been arrested for doin' d-d-damage to property."
"You s'prise me," says Mr. Ames.
"And we d-don't want the whole town of Wicksville laughin' at us."
"Don't wonder at it a mite."
"We can c-cook."
"And eat," says Mr. Ames, with another grin.
"Folks say we can take care of ourselves."
"I'd take their word for it."
"Then, Mr. Ames, will you rent us your ho-ho-hotel?"
"Calc'late to run it? Calc'late to go into the hotel business?"
"Calc'late to l-live in it," says Mark. "Just the four of us."
"Hum! Occupy the whole thirty-nine bedrooms, besides the office and kitchens and dinin'-room and other parts of the buildin'?"
"We want the whole b-business. Don't want anybody else there."
Mr. Ames scratched his head and felt of his prize nose and eyed Mark and the rest of us. "Shouldn't be s'prised if we could make a deal," says he.
"How much?" says Mark, business-like as a banker.
"Calc'late to fish?"
"Yes, sir."
"Calc'late to ketch any?"
"If they're there."
"Rent'll be five pounds of bass, live weight, to be paid every Thursday. I'll come after it." He pounded on the porch with his cane again and bellowed: "Ma, I've rented the hotel. Got the fixin's for four beds?"
"Got the fixin's for forty," says Ma Ames from the back of the house somewheres. "Attic's full of beddin' from that tarnation summer-resort place."
"There.... How about dishes and cookin'-tools, ma?"
"Barn loft's full of 'em."
"Want to move in right away, eh?"
"Yes, sir," says Mark.
"Haul you and your stuff out to-morrow. Included in the rent," says Mr. Ames.
Mark started in to thank him, and so did the rest of us, but it made him bashful and fidgety and you could see he didn't like it. Just in the middle of it Ma Ames called, "Supper," and in we went to one of the best and biggest meals of victuals I ever tried to get the best of.
Next morning Mr. Ames got us out of bed before a rooster had time to crow. He had the wagon all loaded and the horses hitched when we got down-stairs, and all there was for us to do was to pile on.
Ten miles is quite a drive with a heavy load, but it was still early when we pulled up alongside the porch of the big hotel. It made me sort of gasp when I looked at it. It was so big, and we were going to live in it all alone. Mr. Ames said there were thirty-nine bedrooms, and I expect there were about that many more rooms of other kinds. It was a funny-looking place, all bulges and bay-windows. It looked as if it had been built in a dozen pieces by folks whose ideas were a heap different. There were three stories to it, and almost every bedroom opened out on to a gallery or a porch or a balcony.
The whole of it stood on a point going out into the lake. Just off the end of the point was a tiny island with a little bridge across to it, and on that was another big building, where, Mr. Ames told us, there used to be a room for dancing, with bedrooms for the help up-stairs.
And that was all there was to it. As far as you could see there wasn't another building. Mr. Ames said there wasn't a cottage on the lake and that the nearest farm-house was four miles away. The woods came almost down to the shore of the lake, and all around it the hills bulged up a dozen times as high as any hill I ever saw in Michigan.
"Well," says Mr. Ames, "how does she look to you?"
"F-fine," says Mark; and we all agreed with him.
"Boats in the boat-house yonder," says Mr. Ames. "Need paintin' and calkin', I expect. I put the fixin's in the wagon, so if you want a boat you'll have to tinker one up."
"It'll give us somethin' to do," says I, for I like to carpenter or meddle with machinery or mend up things. "That'll be my job."
"I'll see you settled," says Mr. Ames, "and then git back to town."
He helped us carry our things inside. Some of the stuff we piled in the big, dusty, cobwebby office to be taken care of later. The bedding we took up-stairs after we had selected our rooms. We took two bedrooms. Plunk Smalley and I were in one and Mark was in the other with Binney, because Binney was smallest and would leave enough room in bed for all of Mark. The rooms were right over the office and were connected by a door. There was a door out of Mark's room on to a big round porch right on top of the main porch of the hotel. They were dandy, pleasant rooms.
"Better hustle into bed before it gets d-d-dark," says Mark; and up-stairs we scurried.
In about two jerks we were undressed and between the sheets. For a minute everybody was still, and right there I began to feel spooky. I got to thinking of the long halls and empty bedrooms--and the ten miles between us and town. It wasn't comfortable. It seemed like it got pitch-dark in a minute, and then the wind, which we'd been too busy to notice, started to blow around the hotel and make noises.
I reached over and felt of Plunk to be sure he was there, and I caught him in the act of feeling for me. He felt the same way I did.
"I wouldn't mind if a brass band was to start up under the window," says he.
In the other room we heard Mark and Binney begin to talk.
"Git over," says Binney; "two-thirds of the bed is yours fair and square, but I ain't goin' to sleep danglin' over the edge."
We heard Mark wallow over.
"Seems to me there's l-lots of things rattlin' and b-bangin' around," says Mark.
"Is the door locked?" says Binney.
"Wasn't any key," says Mark.
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